Shor

"Abandoned so young and crying out so desperately, not even the grumpiest of us could ignore him."

The statues watched the young hatchling and their stone eyes followed the choppy, staggered movements. It was an odd sight, though not only because of the cuts and bruises scattered over his body but because he was alone. Either he was abandoned by his kin, or his clan was attacked and he had to run; there were no clans within miles of this place. But the reason mattered not. The dragon was alone.

The tan and pink tundra crawled into the ancient ruins of a town long since dead, shivering in the cool night air, and curled up at the base of one of the statues. His stomach was empty and he whimpered pitifully, frightened and missing his family.

We should help him,

The statues talked among themselves in their own language, sounding like the creaks and groans of stone to any who didn't speak or understand it.

He is barely old enough to be on his own.

He is an outsider. These ruins belong to us, now, not dragonkind.

He will die.

The statues were silent for a few moments as they considered the problem.

He will not die. We will help him. We are not so cruel.

The small tundra looked up at the statue that had spoken the last line, the one he was curled up under. A tired but grateful smile crossed his face, toothy with baby fangs, and then he tucked his head under his wing and promptly fell asleep, exhausted from the day he had.

Silence then followed, only to be broken a minute later.

He can hear us.

He is different.

We must keep him safe.

We must help him.

---

They called him Shor, raised him as best as they could, and the tundra adapted well and grew into a strong, hardy dragon. Though the statues were all he knew, he heard their tales about dragonkind and knew one day he would set out to find them to learn more.